


We Shall Meet Again

by This_is_a_sock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Friendship/Love, Gen, Loss, Love, M/M, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:03:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_a_sock/pseuds/This_is_a_sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd be lost without my blogger."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Shall Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> One of my first ever works. Con-crit greatly appreciated.

Sherlock Holmes was nearing seventy. His once dark hair had turned pure white, his face gained many a line and his left knee ached every time it rained. John Watson - friend, companion, colleague and husband - had been gone for over thirty years.

It had been a Thursday. It was a particularly grueling week for John, who still worked at a clinic, as the "Flu of 2020" had hit London with an iron fist.

In the ten years that John and Sherlock had been together, they had each given the other their own unique gifts.

John had slowly broken down the self-imposed wall that Sherlock had surrounded himself with. In return, Sherlock had held, very carefully, a mirror up to John and shown him that he was, in fact, worth something.

In early years, when the wall had first been broken, the mirror held up, the kisses between Sherlock and John had been savage and hungry. Each man was simultaneously exhilarated and terrified by their relationship. Lips would be sucked, tongues bitten, arms gripped and backs shoved against walls.

In 2020, the relationship had slowed. It was now a simmer upon the stove. Yet the aromas from that simmer filled their lives and their home and touched everything.

Mrs Hudson would have been very happy.

So, on that chill winter morning of 2020, Sherlock had cinched his own scarf against John's neck, leant down and gave him a kiss. Soft and chaste, as if it were their first time.

**_____**

His name was Timothy.

Timothy was the first child of Francine and Arnold Wolf. They were rather lucky parents, as their son was an extremely agreeable child. On that Thursday morning, Timothy and Francine were driving to the shop for a purchase of nappies. When Timothy let out a shriek of displeasure, his mother turned to look at him. She hit John Watson with the full force of her car.

Francine never forgave herself. While waiting for an ambulance to arrive, Francine held John's hand and spoke to him in choked whispers. John, the man who had fought for Queen and Country, faced a madman and shown a genius the simplicity of life, forgave her.

"I hear a child screaming."

"He's teething, oh dear God. He's just teething. Why? Why did I look away?

It's okay. You're being a good Mum. Don't worry. Don't worry. It's okay..."

**_____**

The branches of a Wych elm cast shadows on the earth below, touching a rose that was currently held by the steady hand of an aged Sherlock. A sparrow fluttered up into the tree and settled.

The shadows greeted the bird, picking up a conversation that had neither beginning nor end. "It will be quiet, that I can promise."

The sparrow let out a sigh of laughter. "I don't know if he'll be very happy about that."

"I can ask now. Can't I" The shadows of the tree's branches retreated from the rose. Far beneath them, Sherlock tipped his face towards the sky.

The sparrow cocked its head so that one bright eye was aimed downward. "You've always wanted to. Go ahead."

"Why have you stayed all this time? You have an eternity awaiting you. Together. The pact you made cannot be broken by death. You know that." 

Sherlock stood slowly and studied the tree with an intenstiy that the years had never managed to dull.

"What would you have me do?" The sparrow hopped once, fluttering its wings.

"As an unbound spirit, you could go beyond the very binds of time. Your choices are unlimited, unfathomable." 

I've no other desire than to be here."

"But why?" A nonexistent wind shook the branches of the great tree. As if in agitation, its shadows seemed to dance.

The sparrow sighed again "Sherlock needs someone to observe, to record and to remember. What better than a spirit?"

"I still don't understand."

The sparrow flitted up into the air. As it did so, its shadow briefly caressed Sherlock's upturned face. "He has had a lifetime."

  
The breeze that moved the tree slowed and finally stilled. Sherlock shook his head and bent down, smiling at the sleepy bees.

"And you, all of us have, eternity."

The sparrow plucked at it's feathers "Yet all of us would rather be living."

The tree stilled. "That's not entirely true. However, they _do_ take their lifetimes for granted."

"Which is why I am here. To remember. To witness. He always did love discussing his life, his cases. We'll have all of it to discuss. I remember every moment" The sparrow flew briefly and finally settled within the tree once more.

The shadow of the tree moved once more "He's very lucky to have you."

The sparrow let loose a bright song "No. I'm very lucky, to have _him._ "


End file.
